


grab ahold (don't let go)

by honeydripping



Series: how you get the girl [4]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Pegging, Rimming, Rule 63, Vague Daddy Kink, Women in the NHL, coming to terms with your sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21700255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydripping/pseuds/honeydripping
Summary: Unknown Numberheard u need bottoming advicei’m here for you dudehit me with all the questions u gotMatthew puts “Rocket” by Beyoncé on a playlist and gets pegged.
Relationships: Johnny Gaudreau/Matthew Tkachuk
Series: how you get the girl [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1255337
Comments: 12
Kudos: 213





	grab ahold (don't let go)

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLE, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS FIC, OR ARE MENTIONED IN THIS FIC: dear god please turn back now. this is, obviously, a work of fiction, but some of the events mentioned within are inspired by real life.
> 
> Title is from Rocket by Beyoncé.
> 
> This fic is a sequel, and while it probably could be read without having read the first fic, I wouldn't recommend it.

It’s not that Matthew’s never thought about anal before. He has. Many times. And not just with Johnny, either.

There were girls before, who’d pressed their fingers behind his balls while blowing him, who’d grabbed his ass a little forcefully while they’d fucked. He’d considered it.

(He’d thought about it with Luke, too. But that had been different—a different era of his life. He didn’t think about it anymore.

Much.)

He thumbs his phone open, pulling up the browser. 

_how do you bottom for the first time?_

It seems a simple enough question. He knows… things. He’s watched enough porn to understand the logistics, and since he started… whatever with Johnny last year, he’s ventured into the world of pegging porn. 

He’s still not entirely clear on what he should do or how he should prepare. 

**25 Mistakes First-Time Bottoms Make**

**First Time Bottoming: 10 Anal Tips for Gay Men - Gay Pop Buzz**

**How to Bottom: Queer Guide to Anal Sex Part 2 - them.**

The first article is extremely unhelpful. The second is helpful, but so overwhelmingly packed with information that Matthew’s head starts to spin. He closes both.

He looks down at Johnny’s head where it’s resting on his shoulder. His heart thumps heavy in his chest, taking in her long eyelashes spread out across her cheeks. Her mouth has opened in her sleep and Matthew can hear her breathing over the hum of the plane. God, he’s so _fucked_ when it comes to Johnny.

He knows, in some part of his idiot brain, that he could just ask her. She likes anal. She’s said as much to him before. 

Somehow, it feels different, knowing that he was going to be on the receiving end. The thought of asking her for advice made his cheeks heat.

Scrolling through his contacts, he tries to think through who of his friends and ex-teammates are most likely to have some decent advice. Auston would like for people to think he’s had anal before, but there’s no way he’s ever convinced a girl to let him fuck her ass. Zach would probably let Dylan peg him, but he’s a little squirrelly when it comes to their sex life. 

He texts Mitch. Having been lineys in juniors, he knows more about her sexual history than he cares to admit. He’d been there the night she did anal for the first time, sitting in the corner of the room, flushed and feeling awkward, as she’d recounted all the details to a rapt Cliff.

If anyone could help him, it’d be her.

**matthew**  
_hey  
long time no talk  
what’s anal like?_

**marns** 🐭  
_it’s 1am chucky  
go tf to sleep_

**matthew**  
_can’t  
flying back to calgary  
so?_

**marns** 🐭  
_why do u wanna know?  
convinced a girl to let u _🍑🍆

Matthew could lie. He could tell her that yes, he’d met a girl who was going to let him fuck her ass. But he’d known Mitch for years and years, since he was still an awkward, gangly seventeen year old dweeb.

**matthew**  
_more like i met a girl who convinced me to let her_

He watches as the three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again.

 **marns** 🐭  
_holy shit chuck  
good for u_

And then—

_i can’t answer that q for u  
it’s been years  
but i know someone who can_

He gets a text the next morning from an unknown number.

_heard u need bottoming advice  
i’m here for you dude  
hit me with all the questions u got_

**matthew**  
_who is this?  
or is this like, anonymous  
like confession but for anal_

**Unknown Number**  
_leave it to mitchy to give u no deets  
it’s william  
nylander_

Matthew almost drops his phone on his face when he reads that. William Nylander is offering to be his bottom coach. He’s _really_ not sure what to do with that. He programs William’s number into his phone before shoving it into his pocket. Bottoming 101 can wait another day.

—

Matthew’s just getting out of practice when William texts him next.

 **Coach** 🍑  
_so who’s the special someone?  
or is this more general knowledge?_

**matthew**  
_this girl i’m seeing  
she brought it up  
i’m into it  
obviously_

**Coach** 🍑  
_oh a GIRL_ 🙀  
i love it

Matthew isn’t sure what to say to that. He isn’t sure if he’s meant to react or if he’s meant to respond, but he doesn’t have to, because William barrels on.

_have you fingered yourself before?  
or been fingered?_

Matthew chokes on his protein shake. Across the room, Noah raises one thick eyebrow at him.

“You good?” Noah asks.

Matthew nods.

“Yep,” he says, but it comes out all wheezy and tight.

**matthew**  
_uh  
neither_

**Coach** 🍑  
_no worries  
but that’s gonna be ur first assignment_

That’s how Matthew ends up sitting in his stall, drinking a protein shake, and thinking about how he’s gonna go home and finger himself for the first time. He’s thankful he didn’t strip out of his hockey shorts before opening his phone, because it would be painfully obvious to any of the guys in the room otherwise, that he’s half hard.

It’s not that he’s turned on, really, it’s more of an anticipation erection. He’s excited. For later. 

—

It’s awkward.

That’s Matthew’s first thought after he comes.

It doesn’t feel _bad_ , necessarily. Just, foreign and awkward, and altogether unfamiliar. The angle is wrong, he knows that, and he’s too tense.

But he liked it, he thinks. It was… nice. He felt… full, he’d say (if pressed). 

He couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. 

Not yet at least.

—

He’s not expecting it when William calls the next day, almost declining the call at first.

“Hello?” he answers, hearing the surprise in his own voice.

“Thought this would be easier,” William says, sounding a little out of breath, like he’s walking. “So, you tried it.”

Matthew hums.

“And you didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that, I just… don’t think I did it right?”

“Well, what exactly did you do?” William asks.

Matthew feels his cheeks flush at the bluntness of the question. Somehow talking about it over the phone is infinitely more awkward than just texting.

But he’s the one asking for advice, so he tells him.

“Ohhhh,” William says, like it’s obvious. “You weren’t even turned on when you started. That’s not gonna work, dude. You can’t just go straight for home without running all the bases first.”

“Do you even know anything about baseball?” 

“Enough,” William says, and Matthew knows he’s grinning all across his pretty face. The dick.

And, okay, so _what_ if he hadn’t been turned on when he’d fingered himself?

He’d come home from practice and gone straight to bed, popping open his lube and just… got down to business. He’d had to work himself up to an erection from how tense and focused he’d been.

William hums. “You gotta get really turned on first, dude, and _then_ you finger yourself. You know the prostate?”

“Heard of it,” Matthew says, adding the finishing touches to his pre-game meal.

“Okay well, try and find that. It can be hard doing it to yourself but, I _highly_ recommend it.”

—

Matthew finds his prostate and comes so hard it splatters the underside of his chin.

He takes a picture of the mess and sends it to Johnny.

He’s still breathless when she calls him.

“Having fun without me?”

“Just a little,” he says, wiping his chest off with the shirt he’d thrown on the floor. “Wanna know what I was doing?”

“Always.”

“I fingered myself,” he says, and he can’t keep the smile off his face.

Johnny exhales heavily into the phone before saying, “I’m coming over.”

—

They have a good thing, him and Johnny. 

They aren’t using labels, per se, but he was hers, body and soul. And like, yeah. That was a corny thought to have, but he had it. A lot.

If he was honest with himself, he’d been hers since his rookie season. He would’ve done anything she asked. 

He’d still do anything she asked.

(“You love her,” his mother had said when his parents had come to visit in March.

“Yeah,” Matthew had said, completely unashamed of how he felt. He hadn’t told Johnny, not yet. But he thought she knew. He kind of thought that everyone knew. Matthew was pretty decent at masking how he felt about things, but not this. This was plain on his face. 

“That’s good,” she’d said, squeezing his hand once.

“Do you like her?” he’d asked, voice small. Her approval meant the world to him.

“I do,” Chantal said, smiling. “I like that she keeps you on your toes.”

Matthew nodded. Johnny definitely did that.)

He doesn’t call Johnny his girlfriend, but he doesn’t really need to either. 

The team knows, now, having found out in waves. He’d told Noah pretty early on, and he knew that Sean had known from the start. She was too smart to _not_ know. Sam figured it out on New Year’s Eve when Matthew had gotten blackout drunk after Johnny had broken his heart. Actually, a lot of the team had figured it out then, because Matthew had cried, a little bit. He couldn’t remember it, but… he’d been told. He preferred it that way.

Everyone knows, and it’s not a thing.

But he kind of wishes it was.

—

“So it went well?” William asks when Matthew calls him a few days later.

“Yeah, pretty well,” Matthew says, thinking about how hard he’d come on his own and how hard he’d come again later when Johnny had come over.

Matthew was a fairly submissive guy, he’d learned; there was something so thrilling about just giving it up to Johnny and letting her do whatever she wanted to him. 

Whatever she wanted, it turned out, had been blowing Matthew with two fingers up his ass. When he’d come, he’d felt like he reached another plane of existence entirely. Like, he left his body behind. 

There was this gif he’d seen once, of a guy turning into a jet. It’d kind of been like that. He felt like he could rocket through the roof of his bedroom and up above the clouds.

“That’s good,” William says, before turning on what Matthew can only assume is a blender. “Think you’ll try it again?”

Matthew thinks about Johnny’s slender fingers and how she’d felt inside him, how she’d looked at him like he was a _gift_.

“Definitely.”

—

The season ends earlier than any of them are expecting. 

Matthew feels hollow as he trudges back into the dressing room, following Johnny off the ice. He sits, for what feels like hours, in his stall, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened. 

He stirs when a soft hand falls on his shoulder. 

“Anyone alive in there?” Johnny asks. There are circles, leagues deep, under her eyes and she looks more tired than he’s ever seen her.

Matthew hums. “Guess I should shower?”

Johnny’s dressed now, hair dripping onto her dress shirt. “Come home with me?” she asks, voice small. “We can order food? Cuddle with Bailey?”

It sounds good. It sounds _really_ good. Matthew isn’t sure he deserves it. 

He showers and dresses quickly, before following Johnny out to the players’ lot. There’s a bunch of notifications on his phone. No calls, thank god, but texts from his family and a few friends. Most sent condolences of one sort or another. Some sent jokes or praise for his play. He ignores all of them, except for one.

 **lt. dumbass** 🖕🏻👊🏻  
_mom and dad wanna know if ur coming to ur place tonight  
i said no bc duh  
but fr let me know bc i want ur bed if ur not coming back  
Taryn kicks_

**matthew**  
_it’s all yours_

**lt. dumbass** 🖕🏻👊🏻  
🤙🏻

Johnny turns to look at him as they get close to her car. “Coming home with me?” 

She looks tired and sad and hopeful, like she wants him to say yes with her whole being but doesn’t want to force him.

Matthew nods, reaching out to grab her hand where it’s swinging between them. “Lead the way.”

—

He books his flight back to St. Louis the next morning. It’s not that he’s running away from the season, his _best_ season—but he needs some time to breathe, some time away from Calgary. 

“Gonna miss me?” he asks Johnny, lying close to her in bed. She’s still naked from last night, pressed warm all along his side.

“Of course,” she says, brows scrunched, like she’s surprised he’d even ask. “But we’ll see each other. Come down to the Shore.”

And, that sounds nice. He could do that. She has a house there now. He could go down there and they could hit the beach and go down to DC or into Philly. He could meet her friends.

“Are we gonna GTL if I visit?”

She pushes his face away, laughing. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, but you like it,” he says, pulling her across the bed and into his space, kissing her breathless.

Later, when he’s sitting on Johnny’s couch, putting his shoes on, he asks her a question that’s been nagging him since last night. 

“Are you going to Worlds?”

Johnny runs a hand through her messy hair and sighs. “I think so. I went last year and it was good.” She looks at him briefly before looking away. “Are you?”

Matthew frowns. “No. Not with,” he makes a gesture, “contract negotiations and all that shit going on.”

“Oh, right,” Johnny says, climbing into his lap. “Your _money_.”

Matthew hums. “Gonna be the breadwinner now,” he says, mostly joking. He’s not a better player than Johnny. He’s _not_. But the market changes and he’ll get more money than her, and it sucks, but it’s mostly out of his control.

“It’s okay, you can be my sugar daddy,” she jokes and her grin is positively shit-eating.

“Oh, is that _so?_ ” he says, and lets Johnny drag him down the couch.

Matthew is late meeting his parents for dinner. His dad gives him a knowing look and Brady won’t stop sending him eggplant emojis, but he’s not even remotely sorry. 

—

Matthew’s only been home for two weeks when it hits him how much he misses Johnny. 

It’s in that, can’t eat, can’t sleep, moping around the house, period piece damsel fashion. His mother coos over him and touches his hair anytime he’s within reach.

“My poor baby,” she says, brushing his hair back from his forehead and hugging him tight. 

It definitely doesn’t get Brady off his case, who’s been teasing him since he got home. Which is _rich_ considering how he is about his girlfriends.

He’d caught Matthew facetiming Johnny the day before and had made kissy faces at Matthew until Matthew had thrown a remote at him. Their dad hadn’t been happy about that.

But he misses Johnny and her voice and her skin and the way he feels when he’s with her.

So when she calls him, and asks him to go to Worlds with her, he says yes.

—

Matthew’s never been to Slovakia before. He has no idea what to expect, but Johnny is in the hotel lobby when he arrives and that’s all that matters. She’s real and warm and clinging to him and he doesn’t give a damn about anything else.

She drags him up to her room a few minutes later and blows him to within an inch of his life. He might tear up, just a little, when he comes, but it’s only because she’s got three fingers up his ass, and not because he’s missed her so much. Probably.

—

In all his excitement, he’d forgotten to tell anybody what he was doing. So when Noah catches sight of him across a crowded Slovakian bar, he raises his eyebrows in surprise before making his way across the room.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Noah asks, pulling him into a hug.

“Just, you know,” he shrugs, glancing over to Johnny where she’s talking to Kreids and Brady Skjei across the bar, “hanging out.”

“Uh-huh,” Noah says, smiling. “Good for you, man.”

“How’s it been so far?” Matthew asks.

“It’s, been uh, complicated,” Noah says, looking over to a table in the corner where Jack is sitting with Larks. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” 

Noah groans, but buys him a beer anyway and tells him all about his relationship drama.

As it turns out, he and Jack had been a little standoffish and weird for approximately three days before they’d fallen back into bed together. 

“So, like, was it a one time thing or…?”

“No, we definitely fucked earlier today so…” Noah runs a hand through his hair before downing the rest of his beer. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I just know I can’t stay away from her.”

“That’s tough, buddy.”

Noah gives him a sharp look. “You’re not much better.”

“Oh, yeah, no, for sure.” Matthew says, like it’s nothing. “She asks me to come? I come.”

“In more than one way,” Noah says, mouth twisting in a wry grin. 

“Fuck _off_ , man,” Matthew says and shoves his shoulder.

When Jack wanders over a little later, Noah bends towards her like a flower seeking the sun. 

“Ready to go?” she asks.

“Whenever you are,” Noah says, finishing off what’s left of his third beer. 

“Sup, Chucky,” Jack says, hip cocked so it’s pressed into the bar. “Heard you’re fucking our dear Johnny now. Any truth to that?”

Matthew flushes. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Jack grins at him, feral and wild. He feels like she could eat him whole. He kind of sees what Noah likes about her.

“You definitely are,” she says, looking him up and down, appraising. “I’m impressed.”

“I thought you said something about _leaving_ ,” Matthew says, trying to get out of this situation any way he can.

Jack hums. “We are, but I’m having fun right now.”

“Don’t play with your food, Eichs,” Noah says, putting an arm around Jack’s waist. She leans into him. 

Last summer, Matthew would’ve pretended to throw up at that. This summer, he wonders where Johnny is, and if she’d let him touch her in public like that.

“So, take me to your room already,” Jack says, turning so she’s looking Noah right in the eyes.

He stares back at her for a long, painful moment before he stands up from his barstool.

“Lead the way,” Noah says, following Jack out, but not before tossing, “Later, Chuck,” over his shoulder.

Matthew finishes his own drink before slinking across the bar to stand behind Johnny. He feels shy and unsure and nervous. Like if he were to wrap his arms around her right now, that she might recoil or rebuff his public advances. He puts his hand on her back.

“Heyyy,” she says, twisting her head so she can see him, before leaning back against his chest. There’s a flush on her cheeks and she rests more weight on him than she normally would and she’s _so_ smiley, eyes crinkling up.

“You’re drunk,” he says.

Johnny hums. 

“She is,” Kreids says, smiling fondly. Matthew isn’t sure he likes that.

“‘M not,” Johnny whines, but her eyes are drooping and it takes little effort to pull her out of her chair, across the bar, and back to their hotel.

“Glad you’re here,” she says, much later when she’s curled up into his side. 

“Me too,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

He hasn’t spoken to William in approximately three weeks, which is fine, Matthew supposes. William’s at Worlds, too, but he’s playing. He’s busy.

So Matthew isn’t expecting it when William plops down next to him when Matthew is watching the USA play Finland.

“How goes it?” William asks. 

Matthew’s only ever seen him on the ice before, so he’s kind of taken aback by how pretty William is up close, even with the beard he’s growing. It looks good. It looks better than anything Matthew could hope to grow in three lifetimes, let alone in the few weeks it’s been since the Leafs made a first round exit and William shaved his face in mourning.

“Fine,” Matthew says, clearing his throat. “You here to watch?”

“Thought you might be here,” William says, shaking his head. “Figured it might be nice to chat in person for once.”

“Makes sense,” Matthew says, before taking a bite out of the soft pretzel he’d bought on the concourse. He should’ve picked up mustard to go with it, but Matthew didn’t speak Slovak and he didn’t really want to point more than necessary.

He and William sit in companionable silence through the remainder of the period, until William stands abruptly and asks, “Walk with me?”

Matthew follows him down the row, up the stairs, and out onto the concourse. They get stuck in a gaggle of German fans for longer than is desirable, but eventually they find a secluded corner to hide in.

“So, how are things?” William asks. 

“Things are good. Slovakia is nice.”

William gives him a look. He’s _not_ asking about Slovakia. 

Matthew’s not ready to talk about all of _that_ , so he deflects.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything,” William says, earnestness written all over his stupid radiant face.

“Why’d you agree to help me?”

William laughs. Like, throws his head back, shakes his hair, and laughs. He looks like a walking advertisement and Matthew would be mad about it, except William actually kind of has a goofy laugh, thank _god_.

“Honestly dude? You seemed kind of desperate.”

Matthew flushes. “Fuck you.”

William laughs again. “No, for real. Who texts their ex-liney at 1am on a Thursday for advice about anal? Mitchy texted me ‘911 anal emergency’. I thought I was gonna have to drive her to the hospital. I was having visions of lost toys and explaining to Kyle why her number one winger ended up in the ER with a carrot up her ass.”

Which okay, _yeah_ , in retrospect, maybe it hadn’t been Matthew’s smartest move. 

“It wasn’t 1am for me,” he says, feeling defensive.

William smiles at him, all warm and kind and fuck, Matthew really likes him. He’s a cool guy.

“But really? Kinda wish I’d had someone to turn to for advice when I was younger and had questions like this.”

“You make it sound like you’re twenty years older than me.”

William rolls his eyes. “Not _actually_ , but I have way more experience when it comes to butt stuff. No need for you to repeat my mistakes.”

He shuffles closer to Matthew against the wall, letting their shoulders brush. “And believe me, I’ve made a _lot_ of them.”

Matthew’s not really sure what to say to that. He’s… touched? That this other player he doesn’t really know, who really doesn’t have any reason to give a shit about him, cares enough about him and his ass to give him international anal advice. 

Aw.

“Think you’re ready to go all the way?” William asks after a moment, giving Matthew a pointed look. 

“All the way,” he says, laughing. _All the way_ , like he’s some schoolgirl in the Sixties. 

“I mean, I know you guys have been _exploring_ , but pegging is a whole new step, dude.”

And like, _sure_. Matthew knew this. Johnny’d fingered him countless times now. Not like, _every_ time they hooked up, but almost every time she blew him. And it’d become a regular feature in his masturbation routine. 

Matthew was quickly realizing that if he were dating a guy, he’d bottom more than he’d top.

“Okay, so, walk me through the steps, Coach,” he says, smiling, and William laughs. 

“Alright, here’s what you need to do…”

—

They don’t even make it to the semi-finals. Johnny gets an assist on Brady Skjei’s goal in the second, but Matthew knows it does nothing to help the burn of the loss. He knows, as well as any other player, that a blowout would hurt less. They came close. Too close. 

But they still lost.

He waits outside the locker room for her, chatting briefly with various players as they leave. He spends a few longer moments with the Hughes sisters, hugging each of them and trying to say a few encouraging words, though he doubts it helps. Quinn looks more exhausted than usual, and even Jack, whose face is normally cheerful and cherubic, looks drawn and tired, despite the two points she collected in the game. 

He nods as Hanny and Eichs shuffle through the door, some of the last ones out.

“Drinks later?” he offers, but they both shake their heads.

“Gonna pack,” Hanny says. “Greece in the morning.”

Eichs’ hair is a mess, curls spilling out everywhere from under her hat. She looks furious.

Matthew nods and slouches back against the wall to let them go.

When Johnny finally comes through the door, Matthew’s heart thumps hard in his chest. She looks worn down and sad and he just wants to curl around her and make it better.

“Ready to go?” he asks, voice as soft as he can make it. She nods.

“Wanna sleep for years,” she mumbles into his chest when he hugs her. 

“We can do that,” he says. “Room service? As much junk as we can find?”

Johnny makes a happy sound that buzzes through Matthew’s chest. 

“Plan,” she says, pulling back enough to look up at him. He presses a soft kiss to her lips before taking her hand and walking down the hall.

—

Johnny sleeps most of the flight, only waking when they’re over Newfoundland. 

“Where’re we at?” she mumbles, pushing back her eye mask to look at Matthew. The plane blanket is tucked high around her throat and she has pillow wrinkles pressed into her cheek. Matthew thinks she’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

“Somewhere over Canada,” he tells her, reaching out with one hand to touch her knee. She smiles over at him, blinking slowly. She looks content and warm, like a pleased house cat.

“You should really come to the Shore this summer,” she says. 

“Wanna show me off?” he jokes, nervousness bubbling through him at the thought of meeting Johnny’s family and friends as something more than just a teammate. Johnny’s father, Guy, is a nice man. Kind, soft, gentle. Matthew’s terrified of him.

“Something like that.” She smirks at him, eyes filled with mischief. He knows that look all too well. It’s a look that got them to where they are in the first place.

—

Newark is an absolute shitshow when they land, which really isn’t anything new or unexpected. Johnny walks him to his gate and waits with him until his flight starts to board.

“They’re gonna pull your bags if you don’t go soon,” Matthew says, face tucked deep in Johnny’s neck. It’s late and there’s barely anyone in the terminal, but they both have their hoods up—to hide their identities and their exhaustion and how disheveled they are. 

Her arms tighten around him, hands fisted in the Team USA hoodie she’s loaned to him. 

“Don’t wanna go yet.”

Matthew’s heart clenches at her admission. 

“Don’t want you to go either,” he says, kissing her neck, her ear, her temple. 

“Gonna miss me?” she asks.

He could joke. He could play it off or say something that would make this easier, more casual.

“I miss you when you’re fifteen minutes down the road. Of course I’m gonna miss you.”

Johnny makes a noise into his chest, out of frustration or annoyance, Matthew isn’t sure. When she pulls back to look at him, there’s a flush high on her cheeks and Matthew can’t _believe_ he’s here.

When he gets to his seat, his lips are still tingling from how hard she kissed him before sending him down the gangway. His phone buzzes in his pocket as they taxi to the runway.

😍 **johnny** 🤤  
_don’t miss me too much chuck  
sext me later _👅

—

When he gets back home to St. Louis, he’s happy to see his family for approximately thirty-six hours. 

But then Brady tells his parents that Matthew was actually the one who broke the glass on their dad’s signed photograph of Gordie Howe when they were kids.

He knows he needs to get out. _Again_.

—

“For a whole month? I don’t know, Matthew...”

“Okay, so two weeks. Come on, _please_? I promise I won’t let the house burn down.”

Chantal sighs, continuing to knead the dough of the bread she’s making.

“We’ll have to ask your father.”

Matthew groans. So that’s a _no_. He knew that if he could get Chantal to agree to let him have the Cape Cod house for a month, then he’d be home free. But getting Keith involved? He might as well start planning another trip.

“Two weeks, huh?” is what Keith asks later at dinner. 

“Yes, sir.”

Keith puts his knife and fork down. “And I assume you’ll be inviting Johnny?”

Matthew’s cheeks heat. He nods.

Keith hums. “I see.” He exchanges a look with Chantal, who shrugs. “Well, you’re an adult now, and your mother seems to think it’s a good idea.” He sighs. “Yes, you can have the house for two weeks.”

Matthew smiles, feeling triumphant.

“But—” Keith says, holding his finger up. “There are ground rules.”

Matthew wilts. 

“No parties with more than thirty people. No one underage at those parties, understood?” Matthew nods. “You have to go see your grandparents _at least_ once while you’re in town.”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m not done,” Keith says. “You have to take Brady.”

Matthew sits back in his chair hard. Fuck. His parents were cockblocking him, he knew it. He’d thought, maybe, he’d get the house to himself for a month, that he and Johnny could have a month of uninterrupted time. No hockey to worry about. Just laying on the beach with her, day drinking, maybe some training, fucking her on every surface he could find…

But no.

Now it was down to just two weeks and he had to bring Brady, who would _surely_ get in the middle of everything, just to be a dick about it. Great.

Across the table, Brady is shooting him a shit-eating grin, like he’s absolutely _loving_ this.

“Fine,” he says, sighing. “Brady goes too.”

Keith purses his lips, before nodding. “Alright, we have a deal, then. You get the house for two weeks.”

“I’ll have the cleaners come by and fix it up before you go, and we’ll make sure the fridge is stocked,” Chantal says, reaching out to touch Matthew’s hair gently. Keith sighs. 

“Thanks, Mom.”

—

When Matthew facetimes Johnny that night, she answers naked.

“Jesus, G, I could’ve been with my family.”

“Are you?” she asks, angling the phone so he can see more of her body, water dripping from her hair down her chest. She’s summer-tan already, bronzed skin glistening in the light of her bedroom.

“No, thank god.”

“Wanna get off?” she asks, bringing one hand up to palm her breast.

Matthew exhales. “Yeah, okay.”

Later, when he’s wiping the lube off his hand and the come off his chest, he remembers why he called in the first place.

“So, my parents are letting me have the house on the Cape for two weeks.”

Johnny hums softly. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”

Matthew rolls his eyes. God he misses her.

“You wanna?”

“Wow, Matthew. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” Johnny says, laughing. Her hair is spread out across her pillow and there’s a flush high on her cheeks. Matthew is so _fucked_ over her.

“It’s not gonna be some like, romantic getaway—”

“ _Romantic_ —”

“—because my brother has to come. And he’s for sure gonna try and bring Quinn, and I know some of his idiot college hockey friends are going to drop in.”

“You’re really selling it for me, Chucky.”

She’s smirking at him, and he knows she’ll say yes, but not without teasing him first, not without making him beg.

And he would.

He would beg.

If it were a different era, if things were different, if she were a queen and he were a knight, he’d throw himself upon his own sword for her, if that’s what she wanted. 

He needs to cut back on his _Game of Thrones_ rewatch, clearly.

“But we can still, like, go out just the two of us. Go, like, whale watching or something, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Whale watching?”

“ _Or something_.”

He watches as she twists a curl around her long index finger, looking bored. 

“Yeah, okay,” she says. “I’ll come. Just tell me when and where.”

“I can’t wait to see you,” he says, heart pounding in his chest.

“It hasn’t even been a week, Matthew.”

“Still true.”

There’s a smile set on Johnny’s face, this small, fond thing.

“Miss you too,” she says, and god he wants to kiss her. 

_Soon_ , he thinks. Soon.

—

The next morning Brady asks him if he can invite Quinn. 

“Why?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

Brady shakes his head. “No reason. I just don’t get to see her much, you know?” He’s poking at his eggs when Matthew looks at him. “We don’t really talk anymore.”

And Matthew doesn’t really know what to say to that. He knew from experience how hard it was to keep up with people during the season. But Brady and Quinn had been inseparable, once. Brady wasn’t really aware, but their parents used to joke that Brady and Quinn were practically married. Guess there was trouble in paradise.

“Is this like when couples go on second honeymoons to try and rekindle their romance?” he asks.

Brady scowls. “No, it’s not.”

“It so is,” Matthew says, smiling knowingly. “Okay, invite her. It’ll give you someone to talk to while me and Johnny are hanging out.”

“If I hear you guys fucking, I’m going to drown you in the pool,” Brady says, pointing his fork at Matthew.

“Oh, you won’t hear me, but you’ll definitely hear Johnny,” Matthew says, feeling smug as _hell_.

Brady makes a loud retching sound. “I don’t want to know these things, Matthew.”

“You brought it up, buddy.”

Brady kicks at Matthew until Matthew kicks Brady back once, not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough that Matthew gets yelled at by Keith. 

Typical.

—

Matthew and Brady get to Boston on a Tuesday evening. The sun is just starting to set when they get the keys to their rental—a red convertible. Brady shoots him a grin when Matthew sees it.

“I let you take care of the rental, and _this_ is what you pick?”

“Wanna feel the wind in my hair,” Brady says, tossing his suitcase into the trunk.

“Your hair doesn’t even _move_ in the wind,” Matthew says, before jumping into the driver’s seat.

The house isn’t that far from the airport, just over an hour and a half drive, but Brady sleeps the whole time, just to be an asshole. 

It looks good, Matthew thinks, when they pull up in the driveway. He hadn’t come last summer. It’s actually been a while since he’s been here at all. 

His parents had bought it back in the late Nineties, back when he and Brady were just babies. They’d spent at least a month here every summer growing up. He can remember coming with his mom during the season, too, just to check on everything. 

Memories from his childhood summers were laced through with the scent of saltwater and ocean breezes and his grandma’s blueberry pies. He’d grown up here, in a lot of ways. He couldn’t wait to share it with Johnny.

—

“Gonna grab the master?” Brady asks once they’ve gotten their bags into the house.

Matthew quirks a brow at him. “Mom and dad’s room?”

“Just thought that since, you know, you were having your _girl_ over, you wouldn’t want her to see your childhood bedroom.”

“It’s just my room at the beach house,” Matthew says, dragging his suitcase up the stairs. He makes a mental note to make sure the Sidney Crosby Fathead isn’t still tacked to the wall opposite his bed. He doesn’t need her staring down at him and Johnny when they’re in bed.

“Uh huh,” Brady says. “Make sure you hide your Superman sheets.”

“Oh, fuck you. I haven’t had those here since we were kids,” Matthew says, kicking his door open. “Make sure you hide your Harry Potter dolls before Quinn gets here.”

“They’re not _dolls_ ,” Brady yells from inside his room. “They’re Funko Pops.”

Matthew hears rustling coming from down the hall anyway, and that’s all the satisfaction he needs.

—

Before Johnny leaves New Jersey, Matthew calls her. 

“Hey, can you—” he starts before trailing off.

“Can I what?” she asks, distractedly.

“If I wanted to, you know, would you get all the stuff we’d need?” He’s blushing, he knows that. Matthew isn’t exactly sure why he’s embarrassed but he is. He hadn’t even been this embarrassed or shy the first time he’d _had_ sex, but something about _this_ makes him feel positively bashful.

Johnny’s quiet for a long moment before humming. “ _Oh_. You want me to fuck you at your parents’ beach house.”

“Don’t say it like _that_.”

“Can’t wait until we get back to Calgary?”

“I mean, I _could_ ,” Matthew says, feeling indignant.

“No you can’t. You want my cock so fucking bad. I know you.”

Matthew chokes. Johnny referring to her strap-on as her cock makes him feel like someone’s just punched him right in the gut.

“That’s okay, baby, I’ll bring everything we need,” she coos down the phone. “Gonna take real good care of you.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes, but his heart’s hammering in his chest.

“Better make a playlist. Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to keep your mouth shut.”

Matthew laughs. “Is that a threat?”

“Maybe,” Johnny says, and he knows she’s smiling.

—

When Matthew picks Johnny up at the airport the next morning, he’s not expecting her to drop her bags and take a running leap at him. But she does, arms wrapping around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist. Matthew almost drops his coffee in his rush to get his arm secured under her ass.

“It’s _only_ been two weeks, Johnny,” he says, smiling up at her.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she says, before kissing him.

Boston isn’t Calgary, and the threat of being recognized is significantly lower. Matthew’s heart swells in his chest when Johnny takes his hand in hers and holds it all the way out to his car.

She takes one look at the bright, cherry red convertible and raises a brow at him.

“Brady’s idea,” he explains.

“A likely story,” she says, but she’s smiling still and Matthew’s heart skips a beat.

—

He goes down on her almost as soon as they get to the house. It’s been two weeks since he’s touched her and he’s _dying_ to get between her legs.

“Not gonna show me around?” Johnny asks when he herds her up the stairs. She drags her feet on purpose, craning her head around to look at every framed picture, every piece of Tkachuk family memorabilia. 

“You just walked through the foyer, and that’s the living room and kitchen,” he says, pointing over the bannister of the catwalk. Johnny rolls her eyes at him, but continues down the hallway when he presses a hand to the small of her back.

“Need it that bad, huh?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at him, tongue pressed between her teeth. Matthew can’t even deny it.

“Brady’s around here somewhere,” he says, once they’re in his room. He kicks the door shut, dropping Johnny’s bags, before stripping her out of her t-shirt and leggings. “Gonna have to keep it down.”

“No promises,” she says, settling back against the pillows, legs falling open. She raises a brow at Matthew, watching as he strips out of his own shirt, before settling on his belly between her thighs.

“Missed this,” she says, threading her hand in his hair and guiding him down to where she wants him.

He loves this.

He’s _always_ loved this.

From the first time he’d seen a guy do it in porn to Kara from Algebra who’d let him stumble through it to the first girlfriend he’d had in the O—he’s always loved it.

But it’s different with Johnny. Johnny knows what she wants, knows how to ask for it, knows how to tell him what’s good.

Like now, when she says, “ _God_ yes, suck my clit” without an ounce of embarrassment or shame.

Matthew’s ears feel hot, and he knows they’re bright red. He’s overwhelmed by her in the best possible way. 

He sucks harder on her clit, letting off only to flick at it with his tongue. He’s gotten better at this, since they started hooking up. Matthew used to _think_ he was good, back before Johnny told him otherwise. But now, Matthew _knows_ that he’s good. Or, at least, he’s good for Johnny.

He knows exactly what Johnny wants and when she wants it. He knows now, by the way Johnny’s fingers flex in his hair, by the way her thighs tense, that she’s close, knows that when she’s this close she wants his fingers inside her.

She’s wet enough that he can slip two fingers into her easily, sucking on her clit the whole time. 

“Fuck, Matthew. Don’t stop,” she says when he crooks his fingers in her, pulling a long moan from her.

When she comes, her back bows and her thighs clamp tight around his head and she moans so loud that Matthew has no doubt that Brady heard.

It takes nothing for him to get off, Johnny stroking her hand over him a few times until he comes on her belly, face buried in her neck. 

“‘M glad you’re here,” he slurs, slumping down next to her and pressing kisses to her shoulder.

“Me too,” she says, fingers gentling over his forehead and cheek. 

“Can’t believe you cut your hair,” she says, pulling on one curl. 

Matthew rolls his eyes. “Yeah, _before_ I went to Slovakia.”

“I know that,” Johnny sighs. “Just. Can’t believe you did that.”

“Dad doesn’t like it long,” he says, shrugging.

Johnny furrows her brows. “No offense, Chucky, but I don’t care what your dad thinks about your appearance.” 

Matthew frowns. “Do _you_ like it?”

A smile blooms slow and sweet across her face. “Yes, Matthew. I like it—long, short. Doesn’t matter.”

“If you like it long, I’ll let it keep going until you tell me to stop.”

Johnny smiles harder, eyes crinkling up. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Chucky.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” he says, sitting up to look down at her. “I’ll let it grow out until I can do a man bun.”

Johnny hums, tapping her chin with one finger. “If you grow your hair out long enough for a man bun, you gotta shave your beard so it’s just chops.”

“Maximum tool?”

“Oh, for _sure_ , maximum tool. That’s the look you gotta go for.”

“Will you still love me when I look like I sell organic, vegan, gluten-free muffins and wear those weird five finger shoes?”

It’s out of his mouth before he can fully process what he’s saying, and once he’s said it, he wants desperately to reel it back in.

He half expects Johnny to look panicked, to deny it. 

But she doesn’t. She’s still smiling, soft and gentle and _warm._ Matthew’s heart is pounding in his chest.

Johnny rolls her eyes.

“Yes, Matthew. I’ll still love you when you look like you go to Burning Man every summer.”

And like, it’s not the same. It’s not the _same_ as if she’d actually said that she loves him.

But… she did say that she loves him.

He kisses her hard and with everything that he’s feeling. He prays she understands what he’s trying to say, so he doesn’t have to say it. Not yet. He’s not ready to scare her away, not before she’s had a chance to even settle in.

—

Matthew leaves Johnny upstairs to shower and unpack. He heads downstairs to get another cup of coffee, and to maybe, hopefully, clear his head. He’d gotten up way too early that morning.

Brady’s standing in the kitchen, coffee mug clutched in his hands, eyes wide.

“You weren’t joking around about Johnny,” Brady says, looking vaguely embarrassed—and proud?

“What?” 

“The moaning. She’s so loud.”

“Oh, that,” Matthew says, sighing. “I know.”

“Is she like that every time?”

“Pretty much,” Matthew says, feeling smug and beatified and like he’s part of something _special_.

“Okay, no need to be all,” Brady waves his hand at Matthew’s face.

“I’m not doing anything,” he says, but he’s smiling and standing tall.

“Just pour your fucking coffee,” Brady says, shoving him as he walks by. “Going to pick up Quinn. Be back late.

“No rush,” Matthew says, thinking of all the ways he and Johnny can waste an afternoon.

—

Johnny’s still in the shower when Matthew goes back upstairs. The bathroom door is cracked, but it’s steamy inside, heavy with humidity.

Her head is tilted back when Matthew walks in, eyes closed as the water sluices over her. He can see her body through the fogged up glass, can see the shine of her wet skin, and like, it’s only been, like, thirty minutes, but he _wants_.

“Gonna stare or you gonna get in here?” she asks, turning her head to look at him.

He doesn’t answer, stripping his shirt off and dropping his shorts quickly.

The water is hot when he slides the door open and steps inside.

“Jesus, you trying to cook in here?” he asks, stepping right up into Johnny’s space. This close up he can see the flush on her cheeks and chest and how her long lashes are sticking together.

“Shut up and kiss me,” she says in lieu of answering. 

And well, Matthew can’t argue with that. 

—

“Gonna take real good care of you,” Johnny says, later when she gets Matthew stretched out across his bed. His skin is still damp from the shower and her hair is dripping water all along his back where she’s kissing down his spine.

His face feels flushed when he presses it into the pillow beneath him, shaking slightly when Johnny pushes his thigh up.

They’ve never done this before. He’s never been on his stomach, ass up, cock trapped between his body and the mattress, rubbing against the slick sheets.

“Relax,” she says, pressing a kiss to his tailbone, before biting gently at his ass.

“Don’t think I can,” he admits, laughing nervously.

“We can stop at any time. If you don’t like it or if it’s too much. You just say the word, okay?”

Her hands are soft on his sides, palms soothing when she squeezes his hips once before pulling away.

“Okay,” he says, feeling overwhelmed already.

“Gonna start now,” she says, voice pitched low even though they’re the only two people in the room. Even though they’re alone in the house.

She kisses his lower back, his hip, the crease where his ass meets his thigh, before spreading him wide. His breath catches.

Her tongue is hot and wet and just. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, doesn’t have the proper frame of reference to parse out what he thought this would feel like—but it wasn’t this.

She licks over him with the flat of her tongue several times, getting him wet and used to the sensation, he thinks, before flicking at his hole.

“Fuck,” he groans, hands fisting around the pillow he’s burying his face in.

“Good?” she asks, kissing the swell of his ass before kissing his hole.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says again. He doesn’t know if it feels good. He doesn’t even know if he _likes_ this, but he’s turned on all the same. “S’weird.”

“Bad weird or good weird?”

She’s holding him open with one hand now, dragging the tips of her fingers over him with the other. That’s familiar, at least. That’s good. He’s used to that.

“Just,” he takes a shuddering breath, “just weird. _Weird_ weird.”

“Do you want me to stop?” she asks. “I can just finger you, if you want.”

Matthew thinks about it for a moment, for as long as his scrambled brain can handle. It’s hard to process a single thought beyond “ _hnnnnghhhh_ ” when her fingers are rubbing at his hole, when he knows what it feels like for her to get him wet and sloppy and open before pressing in and in and in until he’s coming his brain out.

“No,” he exhales. “No, I. No, keep going.”

When she licks at him again, he’s expecting it.

It’s different, now. He knows what it feels like to have Johnny’s mouth on him, to feel her breath and the slick-hot-wet-warm sensation of her tongue slipping over him. It’s this overwhelming, shivery, bad-good-bad-wrong-good feeling that’s got him on a feedback loop that makes him feel out of control.

He’s moaning continuously now, these sounds slipping out of his mouth that he doesn’t even recognize.

Matthew practically sobs when Johnny pulls back to ask, “You want fingers?” He groans in response.

Johnny’s finger slides in easily, which is a surprise because he doesn’t think she’s gotten the lube out at all. It’s in that moment that he realizes how soaking wet she’s gotten him, how her saliva is coating him and dripping down his balls. 

It should be gross. It should be _disgusting_. His dick throbs anyway.

“Can you hold yourself open for me?” Johnny asks. Her voice is _fucked_ , gone all raspy the way it usually does when she sucks his dick for any extended period of time.

He reaches back without thinking, hands gripping his own ass, spreading himself wide for her.

“Fuck, Chucky,” Johnny breathes out. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.”

His cheeks flame and he feels his dick twitch where it’s trapped between his body and the bed. He’s not going to last much longer.

She licks and sucks at his rim as she fingers him open, twisting and thrusting and crooking in all the ways he likes best.

When he comes, it’s punched out of him, a total shock to his system. One second she’s stroking across his prostate, tongue sliding over his hole, making these obscenely wet sounds. The next he’s coming hard, shooting all over his stomach and sheets.

He blacks out or passes out or just fucking _ascends_ , because the next thing he knows, he’s lying flat on his back and Johnny’s beside him, vibrator in hand.

He means to say, “Babe, gimme a sec and I’ll go down on you,” but all that comes out of his mouth is a vaguely turned on groan. He’s helpless as he watches Johnny up the speed on her vibrator, head thrown back as she comes. 

Her chest is heaving when he finally turns onto his side. She’s smiling when she looks at him, amused.

“I’m not even going to ask if that was good,” she says.

Matthew flushes hard, can feel it spreading all the way down his chest. He rolls his eyes and pushes her face away with one hand, her laughs muffled against his palm.

“No one likes a showoff, Johnny Hockey.”

“Yeah, but I just made you come untouched, so…” she says, shrugging. _Preening_. All puffed up like some proud little bird.

She’s cocky and beautiful and naked in his bed and god Matthew loves her.

—

“What’s the deal with Quinn and Brady?”

Matthew’s still in bed when Johnny comes back into the room the next morning. She’s wearing his t-shirt and has a smoothie in each hand.

“Are you wearing shorts?” he asks, eyes tracing over her long, tan legs.

“Underwear,” she says, handing him a glass. He accepts it readily, hand tracing over her thigh as she kneels on the mattress, up to her ass. She gives him a look when he squeezes.

“Again, what’s the deal with Quinn and Brady?”

Matthew sighs, dragging himself up into a sitting position. He takes a long sip of his smoothie before setting the glass on the nightstand. 

“You remembered the banana,” he says.

“Yes, I remembered the extra banana, you fucking weirdo,” Johnny says, taking a sip of hers.

Matthew smiles, feeling pleased.

“Matthew,” Johnny whines, pressing her knee into the side of his thigh.

“ _Right_ , so they’re best friends. Lived together for two years during the program. Honestly, I’m pretty sure Brady’s in love with her and doesn’t know it.”

He sighs, reaching out to cup Johnny’s knee with one hand. “Dunno what happened. They were thick as thieves one minute, barely talking the next. Quinn came out to visit after the draft last summer and it was just—” he shrugs, thinking back to last July when they’d gone to a concert together, how Quinn and Brady had maintained a healthy distance all night, not hanging all over each other like the used to. “It was awkward. Like they didn’t know each other anymore.”

“Well, that sucks,” she says, frowning.

Matthew nods. “I think Brady’s trying to fix it.”

Johnny hums. She settles back into his side, head pillowed on his shoulder against the headboard while she drinks her smoothie.

“Oh, by the way, Quinn’s gonna roast you at some point,” Johnny says, smirking as she glances up at Matthew.

His eyes narrow.

“What fucking for?”

Johnny laughs. “For flying thousands of miles to see me play in a tournament you weren’t even in.”

He groans. This trip was a mistake.

—

Matthew’s not an idiot. He knows Brady is painfully into Quinn. Besides the fact that he can’t stop tracking the movement of her body as she gets in and out of the pool, or while she’s playing volleyball with Johnny, he’s also just incredibly attuned to her needs.

“God, I’m so dehydrated,” Quinn says, flopping into a deck chair next to Matthew. Brady produces a bottle of water from somewhere, opening it before handing it to her.

“Thanks, Tkachuckle,” she says, taking a long pull from it. Even though Brady’s wearing sunglasses, Matthew can tell that Brady is watching the way her throat works, the way a stray drop of water escapes her mouth and runs down her neck to settle in between her breasts. Brady swallows hard, looking back to his phone.

“You gonna do something about that?” Matthew asks when Quinn’s ducked into the house for food.

“Oh, fuck off,” Brady says, slumping further into his chair, pulling his hat down around his forehead.

“What? I’m just saying, it’s getting hard to watch, buddy.”

Brady flips him off.

“It’s just… she’s my best friend, you know?” Matthew nods. “But she’s… changed.”

Matthew squints at him. “Changed how?”

“She’s all,” he makes a handwave-y gesture, “worldly.”

“Wordly.”

“You know, womanly. Grown-up.”

Matthew twists in his chair, brows shooting up his forehead. “Are you talking about her body?”

He’d... noticed. Quinn had always been taller—short for a defenseman, sure, but taller—and lanky as all get out. That wasn’t the case anymore. She’d packed on muscle, particularly in her thighs and glutes. Matthew was impressed. Brady, apparently, was sprung.

“No!” Brady insists. “But _yes_. That fucking tiny bikini she’s got on? Getting in and out of the pool, water just _dripping_ off her and—”

“Okay, enough. I get it.”

“She’s like, gone all college-y on me.”

“Collegiate.”

“ _Whatever_.” 

“And that’s a problem how? You went to college.”

“Only for a year. And I definitely didn’t pay attention,” Brady sulks, mouth set in a frown, brows furrowed. “I’m too dumb for her now.”

“You were always too dumb for her.”

“Oh, ha ha.” Brady bites at his lip, looking off at the pool. “But like, she’s been around all these—these, _smart_ guys, who could, like, be better for her? And now that she’s in the show—” he trails off, brows knitted.

“Maybe she’s not into that. Maybe she likes guys who look like baby dinosaurs and are complete bricks outside of a rink.”

“Okay, fuck you.”

“I’m just saying!”

Matthew rubs at his beard for a moment. “As the non-single, older brother, I feel like I’m supposed to give you advice.”

“Please don’t.”

“Tough shit,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “I put myself out there with Johnny, and she said no. It fucking _sucked_ , but she changed her mind and now here we are.”

He sweeps his arms out, gesturing at the house, and at Johnny, asleep on a raft in the pool, hat pulled low over her face. He should probably check on that at some point.

“Okay, and what am I supposed to do with that, exactly? Like, love that for you, bro, but uh, not helpful.”

“I’m just saying… putting yourself out there. It’s good.”

Brady grimaces. “Yeah, no, I think I’d rather just have blue balls until she goes home.”

Matthew sighs. “That’s not a real thing, but have it your way.”

They’re quiet for a while, nothing but the sounds of the pool filling up the silence. There’s storm clouds on the horizon. It’ll probably rain soon.

“She slept with Josh,” Brady says, finally, quietly.

Which. Jesus.

Josh was the third part to their puzzle back in the program. If Brady wasn’t hanging out with Quinn, he was hanging out with Quinn _and_ Josh.

“When?”

“Last year. At school.” His brows are pinched together, and even though Matthew can’t see his eyes, he knows Brady’s upset.

“Are they, you know…”

 _Dating_.

Brady shakes his head. “I don’t know. Josh didn’t give me, like, _details_ when he told me, and I didn’t want to ask.”

“Josh _told_ you?” 

Brady nods. “Not like. Bragging.” He shrugs. “It just, came up.”

His mouth is tight and Matthew knows that even though Brady is trying to be cool about it, he’s not. To some extent, his other best friend fucked Brady’s girl. 

And if Matthew knew that about Quinn, Josh sure as _hell_ knew.

“Kinda fucked up,” he says, trying to be a supportive big brother.

Brady’s shoulders are held high, tensed up around his shoulders. 

“Whatever. I’m over it,” he says, right before the rain starts coming down. 

—

Matthew wakes up before Johnny on Friday. It’s early, earlier than he needs to be up, but the sun is filtering around the edges of the curtains, and he’s not tired enough to go back to sleep.

Johnny’s asleep beside him, sprawled out on her stomach with one arm tucked under the pillow. She’s kicked the sheets in her sleep, causing them to pool around her waist and twist around her legs. Her back and sides and neck are bare for Matthew, her skin tan and warm and freckled from the days she’s already spent in the sun. 

Her hair is a mess piled on top of her head and there’s mascara smudged under her eyes from where she failed to remove it last night and Matthew’s heart thumps heavily in his chest. 

When she wakes up, almost an hour later, Matthew’s still in bed next to her, but he plays it cool, thumbing through his phone like he hasn’t been watching her sleep.

“Time is it?” she asks, voice sleep rough.

“8:30,” he says. “We’ll need to leave in an hour or so.”

She groans, stretching before turning over on her side. Matthew’s not immune to a naked Johnny. He can’t resist the urge to roll over and press her back into the sheets, kissing down her neck to her shoulder and down, down, down, until he’s pressing kisses to the soft skin below her belly button.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” she warns, voice soft and teasing.

He sighs, pressing his forehead into the skin of her abdomen before rolling away. 

“Later,” he promises, squeezing Johnny’s hip before getting out of bed to go shower.

She joins him a few minutes later, slipping into the small space with him and pressing her body all along his back. She’s still sleep-warm and soft and _distracting_ as she kisses across his shoulders and back.

“Thought we weren’t starting something we couldn’t finish?” he asks, before leaning into the spray to rinse his hair.

“I can finish you off a lot faster than you can finish me off,” she answers, hand ghosting across his belly, down to where he’s half-hard.

Her grip on his dick is loose, a question more than anything else.

“Tempting,” he says, turning to pull her under the spray. She sputters for a moment, spitting water at him. “But we’ve got whales to see.”

“Ah yes, the _whales_.”

“You’re gonna love it.”

“I better,” she says, reaching up to thumb the mascara away from her eyes. She misses a spot at the corner of her right eye. Matthew wants so desperately to take care of it for her. To take care of her.

He kisses her shoulder instead, before leaning down to press a kiss to her sternum, and then each of her perfect tits. 

They’re small. Not even enough for a handful, but they’re Johnny’s and he loves them, just like he loves everything about her.

She sighs and runs her fingers through his hair as he kisses at her tan lines and at the rosy brown skin of her nipples.

“Think of the _whales_ , Matthew,” Johnny manages to get out, somehow, when Matthew starts sucking on her right nipple.

“Right,” he says, pulling away with a final lick. “The humpbacks.”

“I could say something disgusting right now, but I’ll resist.”

She’s smiling when Matthew looks back at her, a teasing, feral thing. He rolls his eyes at her.

“Now get out of here so I can finish,” she says, rubbing shampoo through her hair.

Matthew resists the urge to point out that Johnny had stolen _his_ shower and that he’d barely even gotten to clean up. He knows it’s pointless—it’s an argument he’d never win. Not that he’d want to.

—

Whale watching is colder than Matthew remembered. 

He’s been before, as a kid, and remembered loving it. As a teen, it’d seemed kinda dorky, like it wasn’t something particularly cool enough to admit enjoying to his friends. 

But like, whales are fucking dope. They’re huge and majestic and they really just don’t give a fuck about human problems. They’re just out there, being big and living their lives, not worrying about things like contracts or global warming or whether or not, maybe, probably, liking dick meant that Matthew wasn’t straight.

They could just _exist_.

He kinda wanted to be a whale.

Maybe just a little.

“Babe, I’m so cold,” Matthew tells Johnny when he wraps his arms around her from behind, soaking up some of her body heat as she films a particularly cute fin whale circling its mother.

“Should’ve brought a jacket,” she says, but presses back into Matthew anyway. He tucks his hands into the pockets of her hoodie, and like, he’s sure to an outsider, this display is pretty gross and he gets it, but. He’s actually cold and he needs his hands for hockey and for getting Johnny off so, fuck off, judgmental family from Ipswich.

Besides, being chilly for a few hours is worth it to see the smile on Johnny’s face when a humpback whale jumps near their boat, spraying them when it hits the water.

—

On Sunday morning, Brady floats down the stairs.

“I don’t wanna know,” Matthew says the moment he sees him, shoving at Brady when he walks by.

Brady smiles in his direction and like, Matthew’s happy for him, but _ew_.

Johnny laughs into the back of her hand until Brady glides back up the stairs with two cups of coffee.

“Mmk, so they definitely sorted their shit out,” she says after they hear Brady’s bedroom door click shut.

“As long as I don’t _hear_ anything, we’re good,” he says.

Which, is kind of hypocritical, all things considered, but Quinn’s kind of like a little sister to him and Brady is his _actual_ little brother and just. No.

But like, mazel tov, and all that.

—

That evening, they order food from a local restaurant and get absolutely plastered.

 _Yeah_ , he’d promised no underage drinking at the house, but like, he was pretty sure Keith meant under eighteen, not under twenty-one.

It’d started with a few beers at dinner, which led into a tipsy Johnny suggesting shots, which led them to a couple rounds of flip-cup on Chantal’s nice dining room table, which led to a drinking game.

They’ve already made their way through the usual suspect questions: “Where’d you lose your virginity?” “Weirdest place you’ve ever hooked up.” “FMK—Gretzky, Lemieux, Sakic.”

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until now.

Brady gets this sly look on his face before turning to his right. “Quinny,” he says, staring right into her eyes. It’s disgusting. “Weirdest thing you’ve ever done in bed.”

Quinn’s nose wrinkles. “ _Weirdest_?” she asks.

“Kinkiest,” he clarifies.

She’s already blotchy and pink from the alcohol, but her cheeks flush harder. 

“Um, one time I gave this guy a blowjob and he wanted to eat his come out of my mouth after.”

Matthew’s pretty sure Brady stops breathing.

“Niiiice,” Johnny says, throwing back another shot of vodka, high-fiving Quinn at the same time.

“My turn?” Quinn asks, casting a look over to Brady. He’s frozen.

“Yeah, your turn,” Matthew says, punching Brady in the shoulder. He blinks hard at Matthew, like he’s confused about what the fuck just happened. His ears are _so_ red.

Quinn laughs, looking over to Johnny. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glassy and suddenly Matthew can see the woman she’s grown into, odd as it is to say. 

“Johnny,” she says, slurring only slightly. “Biggest dick you’ve ever had.”

Brady laughs, startlingly loud and braying and Matthew’s heart leaps. He knows it’s not him. He _knows_ it’s not. But some selfish, heartsick part of his brain wants her to lie.

“Chris Kreider,” Johnny says without any hesitation.

Brady laughs so hard Matthew isn’t even sure he’s breathing, face going impossibly red.

“Seriously?” Quinn asks, eyes huge. 

“Oh, for sure,” Johnny says, holding her hands up at least ten inches apart. Matthew swallows hard.

Brady starts coughing and Quinn has to slap him on the back to keep him from choking.

Johnny’s turn is next and she mercifully lobs a softball at him. 

“Chucky,” she says, smirk pulling at her lips. Her eyes are glassy and he knows she’s one shot away from being Too Drunk™—if she’s not there already. “Have you ever fucked a liney?”

Matthew rolls his eyes at her. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “You.”

Brady retches beside him and Quinn groans.

Johnny scoffs. “I don’t count,” she says. “We’re not _lineys_.”

“We _have_ been. We do PP time together,” Matthew counters.

“ _Not_ the same.”

“Okay,” Matthew says, throwing his head back. “Fine. No, I’ve never fucked a liney.”

A satisfied smile spreads across Johnny’s face. She looks pleased, and maybe, a little possessive. It looks really good on her.

“ _My_ turn,” Brady bellows, breaking whatever moment was passing between Johnny and Matthew. For once, he’s grateful for his brother’s need for attention.

“Alright,” Matthew says, turning his gaze to Brady, who looks nervous for a second, like he knows Matthew could own his ass right here, right now. 

The problem is, Matthew’s mind is painfully blank. Or well, not blank—preoccupied. He’d gotten through his question just fine, sure, but trying to think through one for Brady was near impossible, when the only thing his brain can provide for him in that moment, is the shape of Johnny’s lips saying “Chris Kreider”. 

Matthew barely knows the guy. Or like, he doesn’t _know_ the guy at all, actually. They’d played against each other twice a year, every year since he came into the league. He thinks he might’ve met him once at one of Kevin’s parties on the Cape, but he can’t be sure. That could’ve been another Ranger for all he knows. And then there’d been the bar in Slovakia, but that didn’t really count. 

Still, what he knows about him is this: Chris is big. And loud. And kind of weird looking, but in a sexy way. 

And now, knowing that his dick is huge—big enough that Johnny can still remember it all these years later—well, he’s only human. He’s painfully curious.

Big like, _big_? Like long? Like thick? Like all of the above? 

Brady snaps at him, once, right in front of his face and says, “Buddy, I think you’re a goner.” 

It’s the excuse Matthew needs. 

“Fuck,” he exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “S’all kinda hittin’ me.”

Johnny grabs his chin and looks him in the eyes, frowning. “Let’s get you some water,” she says, standing up from the floor, wobbling as she goes.

He stands, too, swaying more than he needs to, hoping he can sell it. He trails close behind Johnny into the kitchen, hands wrapping around her waist, clinging to her until she laughs

Behind him, he can hear Brady and Quinn starting to stand, rummaging around in the living room, probably searching for phones and bottles of water. He tries to ignore them—and all the thoughts flying through his head, focusing instead on Johnny. He watches as she stretches up onto her toes to get a couple of glasses from the cabinet and fills them with water. She’s definitely drunker than him, but he ignores that, selfishly, and lets her take care of him.

—

Matthew’s a worrier at heart.

It’s not that he’s an anxious guy, per se, or well. He _is_ , but it’s because he’s never been able to leave shit well enough alone. He dwells on the possibilities, the whats and whos and whys. He can’t rest until he has an answer or a solution or a plan.

“Your life would be a lot easier if you worried less about the things you have no control over,” his dad had told him once after a bad game. Which was _fair_ , but that just wasn’t written into Matthew’s genetic code.

“What happened to my little boy?” Chantal asked once. “You used to be such a happy-go-lucky kid, but now you’re all…” she’d frowned, trailing off before cupping his cheek. “You’re just so serious sometimes. Too stuck in here.” She tapped his temple. 

And they were right. They both were. He’d been a chill kid, he guessed. A bit of a pain in the ass, actually. A class clown, through and through, but it came from this need to make people _happy_. He didn’t want to be the center of attention; tension just made his skin crawl. So he’d goof. He’d tell jokes. He’d cut up and be a fool if it meant things could just be… easier.

He hadn’t really grown out of it, but there was a whole new layer to it now. Cynicism, he guessed. A layer of seriousness and protectiveness and anxiety.

A lot of it came from the fact that he was hiding a big part of who he was.

Is.

Could be.

So, like.

Dicks.

He didn’t think about dicks any less now than he had as a teenager, if he was honest. Back then he’d been this hormonal ball of anxiety and horniness and confusion. Now, they were just, like, not a focus.

Most of that was due to the fact that he had a steady sitch. A girl he could call his own, who was down for whatever freaky shit filtered through his brain at any given moment. 

He used to think about them a lot. Like, _all the time_. How they looked. How they’d taste. How they’d feel in his hands and his mouth and his ass.

He thought about guys too. Guys like Auston and Noah and Zach. 

And Luke.

He’d been a little bit in love with Luke, looking back. And like, how could he have not been? He was beautiful and kind and everything Matthew could ever want. 

But Luke was straight.

And Matthew wasn’t.

He’d never… 

He’d never tried anything. 

Except once, when they were in their final year of the program. They’d been a little drunk and he’d been a little sappy and sentimental and Luke had just been… _gorgeous_. He’d looked over at Matthew with his thick lashes and his serious brows and Matthew’s heart had clenched so hard in his chest that he felt like he was collapsing in on himself. He’d thought, maybe, just _maybe_ Luke would want him, _could_ want him. That he could close the gap between them and that Luke would kiss him the way Matthew wanted to be kissed, _deserved_ to be kissed. 

He’d leaned in a fraction and Luke’s brows had furrowed before leaning back.

“Think you’re drunk, Chuck,” he’d said. “You’re slouching.”

Matthew’d sat up rail straight, feeling for all the world like he’d just been struck by lightning by God himself.

He hadn’t tried anything again after that. Not even when other dudes had experimented in the O or when he’d heard stories in the NHL. He tamped down on it. Afraid of it. Afraid of what it could mean to even think about thinking about it.

When Johnny’d come out to him, he couldn’t stop himself from shaking. He felt raw and nervous and exposed in a way he hadn’t in his whole life. He felt like he was naked and like she could see through him, right to the parts that he hated the most. The parts that scared him the most.

She’d wanted to know. He knew that.

She still wants to know. He knew that too.

She’s gentle with him. Tender. Like she understands just how scary and big and _awful_ this whole thing is. And he supposes she does, after all. She’s like him. He doesn’t need to explain himself. Not to her.

Which is why he asks. 

“So, like, Kreids.”

Johnny’s changing for bed, shirt halfway over her head when he asks. Her brow is quirked when her head emerges on the other side.

“Kreids?” she asks, pulling her hair out from under the collar of her shirt.

“Yeah, like,” Matthew looks down at the bed and gestures. His cheeks feel hot and he’s _nervous_ , and god why is he asking?

“ _Oh_ ,” Johnny says, and he can feel her climbing onto the bed, scooting across the mattress until she’s next to him. Her knees press into his side and it’s comforting. This small weight letting him know she’s just right there. 

“You wanna know?”

He nods his head, afraid to open his mouth. Afraid of what could tumble out.

“What do you wanna know?”

Her hand comes up to his forehead, to brush a curl back. He shrugs.

“Everything?” she asks. 

He nods again. 

“Okay. I can do that.”

She talks then, for a while. About how she’d met Chris at Boston College, about how funny he is, how nice he is, how he’s actually pretty smart and _intellectual_ —for a hockey player. She likes him. Liked him. Matthew can tell.

“We didn’t date,” she says, like she has to clarify. “But it was fun.”

“And the sex was great,” she adds, low, like it’s a secret, just for Matthew. 

“His dick,” she says, groaning. It hits Matthew low. Not like he’s upset or jealous, or well, not jealous that Kreids has a bigger dick than him or that Kreids can make her react like this, years later. But that Johnny—

He’s jealous.

“It’s so big, Matthew,” she says, coming to lie next to him. Her head is on the same pillow as his, but she’s on her back, just like him, staring up at the ceiling. Whatever reaction he has, it’s his and his alone.

“And not like, pornstar big. I know I showed earlier that like,” she repeats her gesture from before, where she’d held her hands ten inches apart. She moves them closer together now. “It’s more like that.” 

“Above average, _for sure_ , but _thick_. God I could feel him all day after we’d fucked.”

Matthew makes a sound he doesn’t mean to make. He doesn’t understand, really. He’s never felt like that or made someone feel like that.

“Sore, you know? Like after a good workout. Like all the right muscles got _worked_. That’s how Kreids’ dick does you.”

Which, like. 

_Oh_. 

He thinks he gets it now. That good-ache-warm-sore feeling. His stomach clenches.

“And he knows how to use it. Not like some guys with big dicks. He really wants you to have a good time. Usually when we’d hook up, he’d go down on me. Sometimes before, sometimes after. It’s _so good_ after. When I’m feeling used and he just goes to town? Ugh, I always came so hard from that.”

Matthew’s pretty sure he’s not breathing.

They talk about sex a lot. But like, stuff they’d do to each other.

Not stuff they’ve done with others. And not like _this_.

“I loved sucking his dick,” Johnny says, breaking his train of thought. “I’d get spit all over myself every time and it made my jaw hurt so bad, but god it’s worth it. Just to feel him.”

Matthew swallows hard. He’s thought about it before. What it’d be like. He.

He wants that. More than most other things he could get from a guy. 

Because Johnny could fuck him—would fuck him, _will_ fuck him—but she can’t do this. She can’t slip into his mouth and hold him still and fuck his throat and come all over his face while he cries. 

But Chris could. 

And as soon as the thought flits through his mind he can’t help but shake at it. 

“What’s it like,” he asks.

“Sucking dick?”

He nods. 

Johnny exhales. “God, I don’t know. It’s just like,” she sits up, turning towards him and raking a hand through her hair. “Powerful? I feel so powerful on my knees with a dick in my mouth.”

“Like I’m god,” she says, soft and reverent. She’s flushed, high up on her cheeks, like she gets when they’re messing around. She’s turned on, he realizes.

So is he. 

Dick hard from thinking about Johnny and Kreids, from thinking about Kreids’ dick. 

He flushes hard, embarrassed and ashamed and a little sick.

“Would you want to?” Johnny asks. Her hand is gentle where she’s slid it over his ribs. His heart is hammering under her palm. There’s no way to hide his panic now.

“What?”

“With Kreids,” she says, like it’s nothing. “He would, probably.”

“What?” he asks again, feeling breathless.

“He’s bi, or like, flexible, and always down for a threesome.”

Matthew’s definitely not breathing now.

Because he can _imagine_ it. Kissing Johnny and feeling Johnny and watching her kiss Kreids and, maybe, kissing Kreids himself. Getting Kreids’ dick in his mouth or in his—

Yeah.

 _Yeah_.

“Maybe,” he breathes.

“Yeah?” Johnny asks, this serene smile spreading across her face.

“I—” he looks away from Johnny, back to the ceiling, which is safer.

“Hey, no pressure,” she says, hand coming up to touch his jaw. “I want what you want. And if you want this. If you want to see what it’s like, what _you_ like,” she tilts his face towards her, until he meets her gaze. “I’m in.”

“Okay,” he whispers. His eyes feel hot and he’s close to crying and he _hates it_. Hates that he feels so scared and overwhelmed even when he knows he’s safe.

“I’ve got you,” she says, pressing kisses to his forehead and his cheek and his jaw and his neck before finally kissing his mouth. 

She turns the lights off shortly after, letting the room plunge into darkness, save for the moonlight streaming through the blinds.

He finds her in the darkness, hands scrabbling across the mattress for her, for any part of her he can get his hands on. He’s shaking still, a little. Trembling, he guesses, from holding back everything he wants to say and do, the things he’s too afraid to act on.

“I’ve got you,” she says again, carding her fingers gently through his hair before kissing his forehead and rearranging them so his head is on her chest.

They stay like that for a while, quiet and still, with Johnny scratching over his scalp, rubbing gentle circles into his skin.

“I love you,” she tells him, breaking the silence. And like, he knows it. He’s known it for a little while now. But he wanted to wait her out, wanted to give her the time and space to come to terms with it. Just like she’s doing for him now.

It doesn’t hit him any less hard. 

His heart _soars_ and he feels so full to the brim with happiness.

He turns his face to press a kiss to her sternum through her shirt. She’s warm and solid and he can feel her heart beating steady, if a little fast, through her birdlike ribcage.

“I love you too,” he says, looking up to meet her eyes in the darkness. She’s smiling at him, this shy, fond, impossibly happy thing. And god. _God_. He loves her. 

He’s loved her for so long. Since the first time he’d hung out with her on the road, he thinks. She’d invited him out for dinner when everyone else had taken off for a bar or a club. She’d found him in the lobby, feeling sorry for himself. 

“Chucky?” she’d asked. She’d been dressed in joggers and a threadbare t-shirt and her hair was sloppy and she looked a mess, but she was so goddamn stunning to him. “You by yourself?”

He’d nodded, kicking a little at the marble floor of the lobby.

“Wanna get dinner?” she asked, thumbing over her shoulder. He’d nodded, stumbling over himself to follow her, not caring for a moment if he’d seemed desperate or overeager. 

She’d ordered chicken fingers and a Sprite and picked at her food more than she’d eaten it. 

He was obsessed with her.

He was still obsessed with her.

Some things never change, he guesses.

“Say it again.”

She smirks at him, but obliges. “I love you, Matthew.”

He feels transcendent. 

—

When Matthew wakes up the next morning, he’s alone in bed and the sheets are cold. It’s just after 10am, if his old alarm clock is still working correctly, which is a lot later than he’s been sleeping, but whatever. Vacation.

He has a text from his grandmother, Noah’s sent an article about sharks off the Cape, and, most importantly, Johnny’s texted him.

😍 **johnny** 🤤  
_went for coffee with quinn_

And then five minutes later

_love you_

Matthew rolls over onto his back, and beams up at the ceiling.

Tonight, he thinks.

He’s going to get fucked tonight.

—

**matthew**  
_tonight_

**Coach** 🍑  
_tonight?????_

**matthew**  
_i think so  
feels right_

And then, because Matthew’s feeling a little bold,

_got rimmed the other night_

**Coach** 🍑  
_holy shit  
I’m so proud _🤧

**matthew**  
_any last words of advice?_

**Coach** 🍑  
_there’s no such thing as too much lube  
relax  
bear down_  
have FUN

Matthew can do this.

He thinks.

_—_

He’s in the kitchen when Johnny comes home a couple hours later. She passes him an iced coffee, a chocolate croissant and a kiss.

“Tonight,” he says against her lips.

“Tonight?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

He nods.

“I don’t want to fucking know,” Brady says, looking at them. He turns to Quinn, “Let’s go to Boston tonight.” 

She stares at Matthew, then Johnny, before turning to Brady. “See if any of the guys wanna party.”

“Will do,” he says, looking at Johnny and Matthew one last time before heading up the stairs, Quinn trailing along after him. Her hand is on his ass, and Matthew has to laugh.

—

 **lt. dumbass** 🖕🏻👊🏻  
_me and quinny won’t be home until the morning  
ur welcome_

—

Matthew spends way too long in the shower. It’s not that he’s trying to be like, extra clean or _whatever_ , but he’s nervous.

Johnny’s had her fingers in his ass and her tongue on his ass and like, this is just. Another step. The next step. 

It’s cool. It’s chill.

He’s gonna flip the fuck out.

—

He made a mix.

Mostly it’s like, slow R&B and pop and shit that he thinks he could get pegged to. Songs with rhythm. 

He’d only done it because Johnny told him to make one.

She smirks at him when he puts the mix on and a Lady Gaga song plays.

“Really?” she asks. He flushes.

She’d been sitting on the bed when he’d come out of the bathroom clad in nothing but a towel. He’d kind of expected her to be naked or for her to be in the harness already, but she’s wearing this silky looking robe. It’s kind of working for him.

He shrugs as the opening chords of the song play out. 

“Whatever works for you,” she says, before crooking a finger at him. He steps closer to the bed.

“Anything on under that?” he asks, gesturing at the robe. She smiles up at him, before gently unknotting the tie. It falls open, revealing a red lace bodysuit.

He’s not gonna make it through this night, he’s sure of it.

—

Matthew isn’t sure how he thought this would play out, but it wasn’t like this. He kind of assumed they’d just get down to business, but Johnny pulls him up on the bed and gets him spread out and unwraps him like he’s a present. She takes her time with him, touching him all over and kissing him until he’s so hard, he’s dripping a little.

“Is this ‘Rocket’?” Johnny asks, kissing down Matthew’s throat.

Matthew freezes. “Yeah.”

Johnny pulls back to leer down at Matthew. “You gonna call me ‘daddy’?” she asks, voice low and raspy.

Matthew blinks at her, feeling himself flush all down his neck and chest, before surging forward to kiss her, praying she won’t call him out. He can’t string two thoughts together, never mind ones that involve Johnny and calling her ‘daddy’. He can’t unpack all of that right now.

But like.

He would.

He so would.

“Do you think you’re ready?” she asks, when she pulls away again, kissing across his collarbone.

“Hm?”

“For the main attraction.”

And like, yeah. 

_Yeah_. He’s ready.

“Sure,” he says, feeling nervous and out of breath and so turned on his dick hurts.

Johnny slides across the bed to pull a bag out of the nightstand. It’s silky and black and kind of expensive looking, and how the fuck had Matthew not noticed that before? 

When she pulls the strap out, it’s not what Matthew had anticipated. He’d—he wasn’t sure what he’d _thought_ , but his mind had supplied big and long and intimidating. This wasn’t that. This was, kind of delicate in a way.

It doesn’t look anything like a dick. 

It’s purple, for one, and doesn’t have a head of any sort. It’s smaller than his own dick, and kind of thin, and tapered. 

“Everything okay?” Johnny asks, looking up from where she’s securing the strap to the harness.

Matthew swallows. “Yeah, I just,” he gestures at the strap. “Not what I was expecting.”

“What did you expect?”

“Bigger,” he admits, shrugging. 

“Do you want bigger?” she asks, leering at him a little. “Are you a _size queen_?”

Matthew flushes. “ _No_ , I just—”

Johnny rolls her eyes. “I’m not gonna start you out with a huge dick, Matthew. I’m not _cruel_.”

Which, yeah, that makes sense. That’s fair.

“On all fours?” Johnny asks, but he’s distracted, utterly enraptured as he watches her step into the harness. This is by far the sexiest she’s ever looked.

The harness is black and stands out against the red lace of her bodysuit. His eyes keep catching on the bright purple of the strap, jutting out from between her legs, like a dick. Like a real dick.

“Huh?” Matthew asks, eyes snapping up to hers.

“Position. Might be easier on all fours.”

Which, right. William had mentioned that too. That all fours would be easier for his first time. Or him on top which—yeah there was an appeal there, riding Johnny, but also, she was smaller than him and he had vague worries that he might crush her with his ass and thighs and just—all fours.

“Yeah, that’ll be good.”

His eyes catch on Johnny again, at where she’s slicking the strap up already, hand moving over it with practiced ease, like she’s done this before.

And like.

He can do this.

He can _do_ this.

He gets on all fours.

“Just like normal, okay?” Johnny says, a moment before he feels her climbing back onto the bed, coming to settle in between his legs. He feels her hands on his calves, on the insides of his thighs, spreading them a little. 

“Just like normal,” he repeats. She kisses his back, briefly, before he hears her uncap the lube. She warms it, like she usually does. It’s such a small thing, this easy, tiny way she expresses her love for him. It makes his heart clench.

Johnny works him open slowly, kissing his back and sides as she opens him up, going from one finger, to two, and finally three. 

By the time she’s got three of her slender fingers inside of him, he’s slouched down onto the bed, face pressed into the pillows, chest pressed into the mattress. He knows, on some level, how he looks—face down, ass up, thighs spread until his hips ache. His cock is heavy and hard between his legs and he feels moments from coming all over himself.

“Now,” he manages to get out.

“Now?” she asks. Her fingers still inside of him.

He nods, curls pressed sweaty and messy to his forehead. He feels overheated.

She pulls out of him slowly, kissing his flank as he clenches around nothing. She works quickly behind him, slicking up the strap again before shuffling back forward.

In his heart, he knows it’s small, but feeling the blunt shape of it against him is still such a surprise.

“Ready?”

He nods, hands clenching on either side of his head where he’s fisted them in the pillow.

Johnny gentles a hand down his slide, before grabbing one of his hips. With the other, she rubs the head of the strap against him. He shivers.

“Why don’t you push back on me, baby. Whenever you’re ready.”

And, yeah. He can do that. He can totally do that.

He takes one breath, two, before slowly pushing back on Johnny. She’s firm behind him, thighs taught between his as he pushes back until it slips inside him. He exhales hard.

“That’s so good, you’re taking it so good.” 

Matthew flushes all the way down his chest and his ears burn.

It’s weird. With this little inside of him it feels like an intrusion and it’s unfamiliar and he knows it can be better. He arches his back and pushes back further, back, back, back until Johnny’s hips are flush against his.

“God, Matthew, _look_ at you,” Johnny says, reverent. She’s let go of the strap at some point and her free hand comes up to stroke over his hole now, thumb catching on where he’s stretched around it. He hisses, feeling sensitive.

“You ready?” she asks after a moment. And Matthew’s powerless to answer, so he just pushes back on Johnny and prays she can read between the lines.

He’s had four of Johnny’s fingers in him before, girthier than this could ever be, but he feels _full_ in a way he’s never been before, caught and filled up deep. He kind of loves it.

She goes slow at first, this shallow, gentle push-pull that lights Matthew up in the best way. It’s good. It’s nice.

It’s nowhere near enough.

He pushes up on all fours, getting his arms under himself so he can really push back against Johnny.

“Yeah?” she asks, hands tightening around his hips.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Want me to fuck you good, now?” 

Matthew nods and Johnny grabs a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back until he’s straining up off the bed, fingertips barely catching on the sheets. He feels impaled and so fucking pinned, so impossibly turned on.

“Answer me, Matthew.”

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, panting. A bead of pre-come rolls down his dick and he _throbs_. This is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.

“Good boy,” Johnny says, letting him go. He settles back onto his elbows easily, pressing back into the cradle of Johnny’s hips.

“Let me take care of you, okay?”

“Please,” Matthew says, letting his head drop between his shoulders.

She pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, and like, yeah. _Yeah_. 

The rhythm she sets is hard and fast and Matthew gets it now. He really gets it—why she loves this, why people love this. He feels electric and lit up inside and Johnny’s brushing his prostate every few strokes and it’s good, it’s so fucking good that he tears up a little.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” Johnny asks. She’s out of breath, but she’s keeping up the rhythm, and truly, god bless her. 

“Yeah, I—Yeah, I think I could,” Matthew gets out, reaching down to take himself in hand before Johnny slaps his hand away.

“I got you, Chucky,” she says, wrapping her hand around him. It’s slick with lube and sweat and like this, she’s so much closer to him, grinding in hard and jerking him off. It’s sloppy and hot and messy, the way he can hear her hand on him and her hips slapping against his body.

He comes hard, shooting up his stomach to his chin, moans punched out of him as he rides it out.

Johnny coaxes him through it, fucking into him gently until he pushes back at her with one shaky hand. She pulls out slowly, running her hands up his sides and thighs and helping him lie down. Matthew watches through slit eyes as Johnny gets herself out of the harness, before crawling back onto the bed.

When she’s close enough, he reaches for her, pulling at her thigh as he rolls over onto his back. She straddles his chest easily, leaning in for a kiss. 

“You’re fucking incredible, Johnny,” he says, when he pulls away, bringing her hand up so he can kiss her palm.

“You liked it?” she asks.

“Sorry if it wasn’t obvious, but I had like, a _really_ good time.”

She laughs and looks pleased. 

“You didn’t call me daddy, though.”

He knows she’s joking, but Matthew exhales hard anyway, cock twitching a little at the thought.

“Next time,” he promises.

Johnny hums, before leaning in and kissing him again. She’s hot against him, and so wet. He can feel her dragging against him, the slick heat of her through the lace. 

He drags a thumb over her, curious and tentative, before slipping under the fabric. Johnny groans.

“I’m okay,” she says against his lips.

“You’re, like, soaked, but _okay_.”

“Well, if you insist,” she says, sitting up fully to pull the straps of the bodysuit down her shoulders. He’s sad to see it go, but he wants to get his mouth all over her more than he wants anything else in this moment.

Johnny’s practically dripping when she settles over his face, pussy so wet, slick all down her thighs. He’s never seen her like this before.

“God, Johnny,” he says when he rubs his thumb over her, spreading her slickness even more.

“I really liked fucking you,” she says, sounding breathless and so turned on and this is, by far, the best night of Matthew’s entire life.

—

Later, when they’ve showered and changed the sheets and are piled up against the pillows watching _Black Mirror_ , it hits Matthew just how lucky he is.

“Hey,” he says. Johnny’s expression is soft and sleepy when she looks up from where she’s curled up against his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, brushing Johnny’s damp hair off her face. 

When she smiles at him, he feels so warm and loved and cherished and he wants to remember this moment forever.

“Thanks for inviting me,” she says, before leaning up to kiss him. She tastes like toothpaste and her cherry lip balm and it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

He knows, in this moment, that no matter what happens the rest of this summer, or next season, or the season after that, that if Johnny’s by his side, he can handle it.

He can handle all of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this over six months ago and then sat on it for a while because I got ~depressed~ and went through a bit of a spiral. But, I'm back and I'm posting again. 
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/honeywrites_) and [tumblr](https://tkachuckles.tumblr.com/)!


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